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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27064024">It’s in my Honey, it’s in my Milk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilles_Angst/pseuds/Achilles_Angst'>Achilles_Angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lockwood and co</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author is sorry not sorry, Character Death, Gen, canon character death, go and listen to Sorrow by the National, it’s a sad one guys, lockwood’s tragic past TM, sibling relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:43:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27064024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilles_Angst/pseuds/Achilles_Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica is all Lockwood has, really.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Antony Lockwood and Jessica Lockwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It’s in my Honey, it’s in my Milk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you so, so much to the wonderful and talented Stormwalkers for essentially live-reacting to this entire thing as I wrote it as well as beta’ing. What is writing if not making your friends suffer?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lockwood is four when Jessica first says solemnly, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re siblings, Ant. That means no-one can ever take you away from me.” She ruffles his mop of black waves and picks him up, spins him around until he giggles despite himself. He’d been crying, unnable to find Jessica in hide-and-seek and convinced that she’d vanished. She sways, giggling with him. “You’re getting very heavy, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood grins at her. “I’m a big boy!” He knows he is. Mum always says so and she’s never wrong. She kisses the top of his head. “Of course you are.” Gently, she deposits him back on the kitchen tiles. “Come on. Hide and seek is boring anyway. Let’s play explorers.” They charge into the garden, Lockwood’s stumpy little legs having to take twice the strides that Jessica can make. They explore the apple tree until Nanny Anna comes outside to tell them that tea is ready. Before they go back in, Lockwood tugs at Jessica’s hand. She looks down at him, questioning. “No one can take us away?” She squeezes his hand, gently. “Nope. No one can. You’ll always be my baby brother, no matter what.” Lockwood, distracted by the alluring scent of cottage pie wafting from the house, nods. “No matter what.” He parrots. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lockwood is five when he tumbles down the attic stairs. He lies at the bottom, too dazed to cry, and tries to bat ineffectively at the bright lights swirling in his vision. He hears the thump-thump-thump of Jessica’s feet on the other stairs and feels a burst of relief followed by a burst of pain that jerks him finally into tears. Jessica cries out when she sees him, runs over. Her hair brushes Lockwood’s cheeks as she peers into his face. He remembers how she carried him down the stairs to dad, wrapped tightly in her arms with his tear-streaked face tucked into her neck, for years afterwards. When he’s lying on the sofa later she reads to him, the lilt of her voice lulling him into sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lockwood is six, Jessica gets into the habit of walking him to his fencing class, holding tight to his hand as they walk through the streets together. He dangles on her arm, complaining that he’s old enough to walk by himself. Jessica merely laces their fingers tighter together, gives him an unsympathetic look. “I know what you’re like, Anthony Ant. I’m not having you darting into the traffic. I couldn’t bear it if you got squished.” Lockwood pouts as he considers this. “I wouldn’t get squished.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica laughs. “You aren’t getting the opportunity to try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica sits through his session with a book in her lap, but she cheers whenever he manages to hit the target on the dummy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lockwood is six, both his parents die. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An interminable number of saturdays after the funeral, Lockwood says “I want to go to fencing.” Jessica looks up from where she’s been folding clothes. She nods, starts gathering up his pumps and his practice rapier like they never stopped going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they walk to fencing, Lockwood clings to Jessica’s hand, and doesn’t let go until they’re safely in the lobby. “Next time,” Jessica whispers, “lets take the underground. It’ll be an adventure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood unpeels his face from where he’d pressed it into her skirt. “The underground?” Jessica smiles, faintly, ruffles his hair. “Yep. We’ll be explorers.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lockwood turns seven, Jessica bakes him a birthday cake. They find the simplest book on the shelf and pore over the recipe together, write a list and go to the shop with it. When they get back, laden with chocolate bars and cocoa powder, Jessica makes him hot chocolate and lets him sit on the counter and help her weigh the ingredients. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cake sinks slightly in the middle but they fill the dip with extra chocolate icing and Jessica lets Lockwood sprinkle smarties all round the edges while she carefully writes out “Happy Birthday Ant” in the middle in wobbly green icing letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arif comes round at four to have some because he asked what they were buying baking supplies for and Lockwood solemnly invited him as the sole guest at his party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They forgot to get candles and Jessica’s face crumples as she realises until Arif pulls a packet out of his pocket and tells her he noticed they hadn’t bought any. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica throws her arms around him and Arif pats her on the back until her shoulders have stopped shaking and he lets Lockwood light seven candles with his big silver lighter. The cake is delicious, and Arif sings happy birthday in his big rumbly voice and they play Ludo together. It’s not like any of Lockwood’s other birthdays, but as he licks chocolate cake from his fingers and triumphantly lands his last figure back home on the board, he finds that it’s been a good one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the evening, Jessica gives him a specially small rapier, a proper one like the Fittes Agents has. She looks conflicted about giving it to him, but she smiles when he races around the garden with it, flicking at shadows and listening to the blade whooshing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he runs back upstairs to his room, he finds another present. There’s a framed picture of a family picture on his bedside table, from when he’d just turned six. He looks at the picture for a long time. Then he goes downstairs to find Jessica to run his bath with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lockwood is eight, he tells Jessica that he’s going to be an agent some day. Her face twists miserably but she manages a faint noise of approval when he tells her that his fencing teacher says he’s a natural. She looks unhappy again when he points out that he sees ghosts lots, and might as well be allowed to get rid of them. “Mum and dad thought it was wrong.” She mutters, and twists one shoe into the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re dangerous.” Lockwood says, stubborn. The fencing teachers from DEPRAC are very clear about that. Jessica sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can’t you find something less morbid, Ant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood scowls, petulant. “Stop calling me Ant. I’m not an ant.” Jessica looks like she’s going to argue for a moment, but then her shoulders droop. “Fine.” She says. Quiet. “I’ll think of something else to call you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lockwood tells Arif he wants to be an agent Arif slips him a doughnut and mimes slashing at ghosts, chortling to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In summer, Jessica says “We should go on holiday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood looks at her, excited but doubtful. “Can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica nods, determined. “Uncle has a big house in the country. I’m sure he’d let us stay there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up his address in mum’s old address book, and her hands only shake slightly when they trace the loops and whorls of her handwriting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She writes him a letter, and sure enough their Uncle writes back saying that they’re welcome at his house whenever they would like. Jessica raids their dad’s old emergency cash store for the train fare. Lockwood tells Arif that they’re going on an adventure, and Arif slips a few sweets into their bag along with their sandwiches for the journey and tells them to write him a postcard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their uncle’s house is beautiful. It’s a long, sprawling building of warm grey stone, full of excitable hunting dogs with a propensity to bowl Lockwood over when they get excited. He and Jessica spend two weeks roaming the surrounding countryside, sometimes with their uncle in tow but mostly just the two of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a wide, shallow stream that Lockwood spends hours getting utterly soaked in while Jessica sits on the bank with her feet in the water and their uncle doses in the grass with a pile of dogs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One evening when they’re all gathered around the table, polishing up the remains of an apple crumble baked by their uncle’s housekeeper, their Uncle looks them each in the eye and tells them they are welcome to stay there at any time at all, for as long as they like. Lockwood, fondling the silky ears of one of the dogs under the table, grins. Jessica goes damp eyed, but her voice is firm and clear when she says thank you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lockwood is practicing fencing manoeuvres in the garden with a stick, his uncle comes out and watches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fencer, eh?” Lockwood nods, smiles. He chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was a lad, we’d only just found out how to get rid of the damn things. I was desperate to fight ghosts, be like that Marissa Fittes. I used to see them, you know. A crowd of spirits out in the marshes. Ugly blighters.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood giggles at that. “I see them too. There’s lots in London.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle claps him on the shoulder. “Well, if you can whip that stick about like that, I reckon you could be an excellent agent, young Lockwood.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood glows with pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they get back to London, Arif invites them up to tea in his flat above the shop. The postcard Lockwood sent him is in pride of place in the middle of the mantelpiece. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three months later, they get a letter from their Uncle’s housekeeper telling them that he’s died of a heart attack on a hunt. Lockwood thinks of how he’d invited them both around for Christmas before they left, about the warm kitchen and the long corridors he raced down and wraps his arms around Jessica so he can bury his face in her cardigan. He wonders what happened to all of the dogs. He never does find out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They bake a cake for Jessica’s fifteenth birthday. Hers is vanilla, and they pile berries and whipped cream in the center and on top. It’s a lot better than their earlier attempts. It’s March, and it’s snowing lightly. They watch it fall from the kitchen windows. “That’s late.” Says Jessica with a frown, but they play in it anyway. There’s not enough for a snowman but they lob disintegrating snowballs at each other until they’re pink cheeked and laughing madly, Jessica’s hair escaped from its clips and fluffing around her face like an untidy halo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They traipse back inside for a hot drink to find Arif waiting on the doorstep with a haphazardly wrapped parcel and card. They sit in the kitchen together the way they’ve done for the last few years, and eat cake and laugh. Arif’s gift turns out to be a camera. “It’s old.” He says apologetically, but there are two tears slipping down Jessica’s cheeks and Lockwood hears her “thank you” even though she’s got a face full of Arif’s jumper as she hugs him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arif shows her how to work the camera, and then takes a quick shot of her, laughing. Jessica frowns, but she’s laughing, and when she looks back at the image she looks pleased by it. She takes a photo of Lockwood and Arif grinning for her, and one of the apple tree with its dusting of snow, and the street outside. Arif nudges Lockwood as she’s rushing about with it looking for things to photograph, says “you think she likes it?” Laughing to himself, clearly pleased with the reception of his gift. Lockwood laughs too and says “what do you think?” which startles a further chuckle out of Arif. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They play scrabble because it’s Jessica’s favorite, and Lockwood only complains mildly when he gets the spelling wrong and has to think of a new word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lockwood gives Jessica her present in the evening. He’d managed to sneak to the bookshop that she likes by pretending he was going to visit Arif, and had asked the bookseller what she thought she would like. She’d been very helpful, and they’d eventually settled on Pride and Prejudice, which Lockwood privately thinks sounds very boring but he thinks Jessica will like the main character. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica looks delighted when she opens it, kissing his curls like she used to when he was younger. “This was dad’s favorite book.” She tells him. Lockwood didn’t know that, and immediately panics that she already has a copy. Jessica waves him off easily. “I couldn’t read Dad’s copy.” She admits, sadness touching her features. “I don’t know why.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood hugs her tightly, and feels like her older brother for a brief moment. She pulls back, grins. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” They stay smiling at each other for a minute before Jessica suddenly realises the time. “Off to bed with you, young man! Do you know what time it is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lockwood groans, but he goes obediently to brush his teeth. When he peeks through the door as he goes past, he can see Jessica’s dark head bent over the book, evidently engrossed. He smiles as he climbs up to his room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lockwood wins a fencing completion just before his ninth birthday. Jessica cheers, and Lockwood beams as the medal is lowered over his head. It’s not a big completion, but it gives him a taste for competing, and it means he gets into the older kids class even though he’s at least three years younger than most of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For his birthday, Jessica gives him a glitteringly beautiful rapier. It’s still a little smaller than the average size. It fits in his hand perfectly. Arif gives him a voucher for free doughnuts for a year which Lockwood tells him solemnly is the best present that he’s ever received. They play monopoly and eat chocolate cake and Lockwood gleefully points out that he’s only a year from being in double digits and Arif ruffles his hair and tells him he’ll grow up to be taller than him if he eats all his vegetables. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At some point in August, Jessica looks around the cluttered disaster that is their landing and says “we have to do something about mum and dad’s stuff at some point. It’s been long enough.” Lockwood nods. He’s sick of dodging boxes in the hallway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In September, they pick the apples off the tree together. Lockwood hangs from a bough munching one while Jessica tugs them into a basket, swatting at him occasionally and making him giggle. She takes a picture of him hanging there and laughs, says he looks like one of the famous five. They take a basketful round to Arif and he bakes apple turnovers, which are so nice that finishing one feels like an act of tragedy. Lockwood is puffed up with the satisfaction of eating the product of his own sporadic labours, and they watch Arif’s tiny television as a rare treat. Jessica falls asleep on the sofa and Lockwood leans on her arm and drifts off too, full and warm and contented with the voices of the BBC murmuring in the background. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica dies on a Thursday in late October. Later, Lockwood thinks that the worst thing about it was how normal the day was, to start. They ate toast in the kitchen together for breakfast, and Jessica said they needed to buy some more jam. Lockwood stared at the empty pot on the table for months afterwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers a few things from that afternoon with glass sharp clarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way his stomach dropped and the blood roared in his ears when he opened the door, the ache of his throat, the tight woven looped patterns of Jessica’s carpet. He remembers the last time Jessica said she loved him, in the morning when he told her he’d finally worked out the footwork for a fencing manoeuvre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The main thing he remembers is walking to Arif’s flat on numb, wobbly legs at about two in the morning, when he’d finally got up. He remembers how long each step felt, how badly he wanted the whole thing to be a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blur of what happened after that- police-lights-talking-not-talking-endless-tea-Arif all fades into one long streak that only stopped a few days before the funeral. He sleeps on Arif’s sofa under a blanket and doesn’t look at his house once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The funeral is better attended than Lockwood expects. He doesn’t really care. He stands in the front row and holds on to Arif’s hand for the entire service. Arif doesn’t complain once, even when Lockwood lets go and finds he’s left five crescent shaped dents from his nails. He answers no to every question he’s asked. No, no flowers, no, he’s not ok, no, no,no,no,no, until Arif takes his hand and leads him back to his flat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t cry until later, when at eleven he tries to sneak back out to the house, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>borne by a desperate empty hope. Arif intercepts him at the door in his dressing gown. Says “that’s not the way, Lockwood.” Catches Lockwood’s fists when he hits at him and catches him when he begins to weep. Lockwood twists his fingers into the thick flannel of his dressing gown and says “it isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair” </span>
  </em>
  <span>over and over until he finally falls asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter anyway. Jessica never comes back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the morning of his tenth birthday, Lockwood visits the graveyard. He has to scramble over the wall to get in, but he’s good at getting into awkward places. He brings a spray of lavender from the garden, and sits in the quiet green stillness for a few hours. It’s nice. The noise of the traffic is muted by the high walls, and he lies in the grass and watches the clouds overhead with one hand stretched out to rest against Jessica’s headstone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At three, he heaves himself up and wanders back to Arif’s flat. Arif sticks candles in a pile of donuts. Neither of them even consider chocolate cake. They watch Allo Allo on television and eat too many donuts each and it’s not a bad birthday, despite everything. Arif doesn’t say anything when Lockwood asks awkwardly if he can sleep on his sofa that night, just goes to get blankets from the airing cupboard. Arif gives him the Fittes manual for his birthday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lockwood tries out for Fittes. He’s doing fine in the interview until they talk about the need for an adult supervisor to be present, at which point he shouts </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t you see what a risk that is </span>
  </em>
  <span>and throws a potted plant at the wall. A round-faced blond boy watches him leave with interest. Lockwood sticks his tongue out at him and pulls a motivational poster off the wall as he goes. He thinks he hears laughter follow him out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tells Arif he doesn’t want to be a Fittes agent. He doesn’t want to work anywhere with supervisors. Arif cocks his head in thought, says after a long pause “I might know somebody who can help you. I’ll ask if he’ll give you a call.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gravedigger Sykes is crazy, Lockwood is pretty sure. He wears a tweed suit like an old gentleman but he lives off rich tea biscuits and chips from a twenty four hour cafe and always says exactly what he thinks. Lockwood likes him. He’s reminded a little of his uncle, especially because Sykes has a small wiry terrier that’s fiercely loyal and spectacularly ugly. Sykes keeps dog biscuits in one of the pockets of his beautiful tweed suit and lets the dog sit in his lap whenever he sits down. When Lockwood comes second in a big DEPRAC fencing competition, Sykes cheers. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this entire thing in the space of two days, so I’m emotionally...fine. The title for this comes from Sorrow by the National, which you should all definitely listen to and cry. Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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